


Take Control

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Bunker Fic, Castiel Angst, Dominant Castiel, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Castiel, Human Castiel, Kissing, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Oblivious Castiel, Oral Sex, POV Castiel, Post Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Rating: NC17, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Submissive/Bottom Dean, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this sequel to Everyone Does It, Cas, it seems that the former angel still hasn't learned the subtleties and complexities of being in a romantic relationship, especially with a man that often turns surly and closed-off without warning. He regrets telling Dean what he did to himself earlier in the day, fearing that it was wrong and he would be judged unstable again. Dean convinces him to describe what he did and briefly explains the concepts of human kink and fantasy. Then, as a man of action rather than words, Dean offers himself to Castiel with the promise that he could act out his fantasy. It requires the most difficult sacrifice of control for the hunter as he realizes Castiel's fantasy is domination, even though Castiel doesn't quite understand it. Will Castiel have the curiosity and courage to look further into his new psyche as a human male and will Dean trust him enough to surrender complete control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Control

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the sequel to my last fic called Everyone Does It, Cas, so I suggest you read it first here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/827024

Castiel's newest interest was the American Civil War. After going through his own civil war, he felt like he related to those human warriors - especially that Lee fellow, the one who led the rebellion. He'd led a rebellion of his own in Heaven and briefly won it, much like those Confederates. Not only that, but he knew Dean and Sam's ancestors were casualties in that American war. Rebels themselves, of course. He made a mental note to tell them about it when Sam was feeling better, having watched the bloodline from Heaven since Cain and Abel.

Outside the bunker, on the grassy slope, Castiel stretched out on his back with his knees drawn toward the sky and a book angled toward a lantern near his head. _Battle Cry of Freedom_. The title had caught his eye among the box of books Garth had dropped off for him earlier in the week. Before he was human, he could have easily read the book in dusky light, but his human eyes were significantly dimmer. Nevertheless, he enjoyed stretching out in the grass and watching the stars rise each night when it didn't rain. Glittery white stars reminded him of home. For a time, looking to the sky pained him after all the angels fell, unable to see a star without fearing a flaming set of wings would follow. The trauma slowly dissipated, though, and Dean always knew where to find him on that grassy slope with his book of the week.

Dean wasn't home yet. He caught the scent of a case like a bloodhound, leaving Castiel to look after Sam, who was not yet strong enough to hunt. The younger Winchester slept soundly most of the day until Castiel woke him twice to eat and drink. Although Sam needed him to heat up soup on the stove and to walk to the bathroom - and he was grateful for the help - Castiel felt a bit claustrophobic. Sometimes Sam and Dean forgot that he used to travel anywhere in the universe with the power of thought. Walking and driving were painfully, dreadfully, agonizingly slow. Not going anywhere at all made him an expert at identifying the frustration emotion.

Castiel marked his page and dropped the book in the grass. He fumbled in his jeans pocket for his new iPhone, looking for texts from Sam or Dean. He didn't like texting - he preferred hearing voices - but humans seemed to slowly disconnect from each other with each generation.

_Got another lead_ , Dean's text said. _I'm checking it out and then I'll be back. How's Sammy?_

The former angel chose a vessel with hands too large to tap letters on an iPhone without making several mistakes. He learned to use a lighter touch, which helped. _Sam is slowly improving_ , he returned. _I found no information of import in the archives regarding his illness. He is eating and drinking. He called me Florence Nightingale and found it humorous. Who is Florence Nightingale_?

In minutes, wind chimes alerted Castiel to another text. _LOL! More like Nurse Ratched_.

_Dean, I don't understand that reference_ , he typed.

_Nvmd. U had a tiring day. No need 2 think 2 hard_.

Castiel stared blankly at the screen, trying to process Dean's meaning. He knew Dean was driving by the frequent irritating mutilation of the English language that he barely understood. Sometimes he had to read the letters out loud to catch that "U" meant "you" and so forth. Dean was much too intelligent to hack up his native language, and Castiel often told him so.

_Stop driving and texting. Watch the road_ , Castiel typed.

_ILY Nurse Ratched. Have plans 4 u later. Been thinking about u_.

He understood "ILY" and smiled in spite of hating shorthand. The only times Dean ever said he loved him was in teasing or sarcasm, but he accepted that wall in his personality a long time ago. They weren't the most verbal people, he assumed, but the sentiment was daily implied in the way they took care of each other and the way Dean behaved in private. It was enough just to share Dean's company, his bed, and to be trusted with caring for his ill brother.

Settling back in the grass, he opened his book again and resolved to wait for Dean. He would hear the rumble of the Impala's engine before he would see it.

Halfway through the battle of Antietam, Castiel's brain finally understood what Dean was hinting at in his texts. The book slipped from his hands as the realization came over him. He looked through the dark trees jutting up to the black sky. A new, unidentified emotion pulled at him. Fear? He analyzed. No, fear wasn't quite right. His face became hot all the way around his ears and he felt the strangest urge not to be seen. A half-smile came, but it wasn't brought on by amusement. It was mild discomfort.

It had been days since Dean coupled with him because his laser focus found the new case. That morning, Castiel was driven to distraction and attempted to persuade Dean to delay his day a little while, to which Dean instructed him to "handle it himself" and promised that he would be thinking of him performing the act on himself during his day. His eyes shined in a peculiar, secretive way when he said so. At first, Castiel found the concept bewildering, even wrong, and he resisted such an act, but his body demanded attention in the end. He couldn't think of anything but Dean's hands and lips on his body. After it was over, he lingered awhile in a strange hazy state and told Dean what he had done.

Certainly Dean meant it when he said he'd been thinking about him all day. Perhaps it caused the odd sense of discomfort because it wasn't something humans ever discussed with each other. Perhaps he shouldn't have told Dean about the new experience. On the other hand, Dean indicated plans for them because of it.

There was that anticipation dipping his stomach again. Anticipation, yes, but laced with mild discomfort as if he would be judged badly for not being able to control barbaric lustful human urges.

Learning to be human was harder and more exhausting that day. He didn't like the loss of control over himself.

Distant rumbling caught his attention. Headlights shined bright beams down the road and Castiel squinted as the Impala turned, parking near the bunker. He sat up in the grass, hands braced on the ground behind him, and observed Dean's long legs unfold from the driver's side door. The cheap FBI suit looked crumpled and dirty in places. Castiel surmised he'd been crawling around the riverbank looking for clues about the suspected river ghost.

Dean trudged up the grassy slope on wide set legs while he sucked a long mouthful from a half-empty water bottle. The sight of his head tipped back, lips wrapped tightly around the rim, and his throat muscles working the liquid blurred Castiel's mind. He remembered his shower that morning and the tormenting image of Dean on his knees drawing long mouthfuls of his cock, to use Dean's own language. Quickly, the former angel spun his face away and breathed deeply.

"Hey," Dean greeted nonchalantly. He dropped on the ground. "You're gonna ruin your eyes reading out here."

"I have my lantern," replied Castiel quietly.

Dean's profile smirked in the night shadows. "We're marking down pig-headed as one of your human traits."

"Did you make progress?" Castiel asked, feeling the need to change the subject.

"Coulda ganked the damn thing if I had you or Sammy with me. Some old hag's drowning men because she drowned herself after busting her husband with another chick a hundred years ago. The hag got me and I almost went under—"

Every muscle in Castiel reacted with sudden alertness. Fear rippled across his face, but he said nothing. Expressing fear for Dean's life on the job seemed to be the wrong sort of distraction for the hunter. He never felt that intense fear as an angel - he was incapable of it - even when he watched Dean nearly get killed a number of times. It seemed different now though. Castiel was astutely, painfully aware of his own fragility as a human being, and projected that fragility onto the fear of losing Dean now that they were together and happy. Nevertheless, he remained silent and listened to the day's events.

"—but I managed to keep the salt gun above water. Shot the hag but she ain't gone yet. I gotta find her bones tomorrow night. Salt and burn, baby. Open and shut case." The lazy smile tugging at Dean's beautiful mouth told Castiel how happy he was to be hunting again.

"I will assist you tomorrow night," he offered.

Dean opened an eye and looked at him from his back on the grass. "Your first salt and burn. Good times." Distracted, he grabbed the book Castiel had been reading and looked at the cover. " _Battle Cry of Freedom_. Jesus, Cas, not everything you read has to be educational. Look at something fun. Buy a porn mag."

"Pornography doesn't interest me, Dean." He snatched his book.

"Ah, you just haven't found your kink yet." Tired and maybe with stiff muscles, Dean climbed to his feet and headed toward the bunker.

Castiel stuffed the book under his arm, grabbed the lantern, and followed him. "I don't understand the word kink."

"You know, your kink. The things that turn you on, you know, get you going." He glanced at Castiel, searching his face. "Kink is the sex thing that gets you hard. It can be anything."

"Oh. Like _Busty Asian Beauties_."

Laughter lit up Dean's face. "Sure, yeah."

Castiel was neither busty nor Asian though. "Dean, am I your kink too?"

In the kitchen, Dean spun and faced Castiel. Green eyes met blue. "God yes," he said resolutely. "You're my best kink."

"Why?"

The question seemed to catch Dean off guard. He selected items from the pantry and filled a pot with water. Macaroni and chicken appeared to be on the menu. Castiel usually enjoyed squirting ketchup all over both macaroni and chicken, blending the flavors, much to Dean and Sam's horrified faces. His food choices baffled them most of the time.

"No one had you before me," Dean explained after some thought. "It's like you were built for me. If God or whatever even had a part in sending you to yank me out of Hell, I think it was because this was supposed to happen. Seeing you become a man more every day, helping you figure out what you like about life and food and movies and stuff, and then being the one to teach you about sex - it's the best, you know? When I see you really diggin' something I can tell you want, there's nothing hotter for me. Yeah, that's the kink part. You're my corruptible angel. I'm gonna teach you stuff that'll blow your mind." He smiled at the pot as the water started to boil.

Never had Castiel heard Dean express so much about their relationship in one breath. Mixed up, overwhelming emotions bubbled to the surface and made him slide his arms around Dean from behind as he stood at the stove. He kissed Dean's neck.

Dean gave a low chuckle. "Don't get all chick flick on me now," he said.

"Dean, I have nothing to do with films about baby birds," Castiel replied through a thin smile on Dean's shoulder, being deliberately obtuse.

"Smart ass," Dean laughed.

Castiel's smile widened. "Dean, my posterior has no ability for intelligence."

"Mh-hm, keep it up." It sounded like a threat but there was a hint of anticipation in Dean's words - the same anticipation that had been plaguing Castiel periodically through the day. His head tilted curiously but Dean didn't elaborate.

Sam didn't feel like getting out of bed but Dean insisted that he eat, so the three of them camped out in the younger Winchester's room with plates in their laps. They watched a film about vehicles that transformed into robots, which Castiel didn't much enjoy since the story seemed so flimsy, but Sam appeared to thoroughly enjoy an actress called Fox. The woman was pretty enough but Castiel had seen other actresses who affected him far more. That one seemed so … spiritless. Still, he enjoyed the banter and the time with the brothers. Life even returned to Sam's eyes.

Occasionally through the movie, Castiel noticed Dean quietly looking over at him, studying his features, even touching his face with his mind. He wanted to ask why but Dean never liked pointing out their relationship to outsiders - even Sam.

The moment they closed the door in their own room at the end of the night, though, Castiel took his opportunity. "Why were you watching me instead of the movie?"

Dean's jaw clenched and his eyes darkened. He approached Castiel, who found that blazing stare intimidating, and his back hit the wall. "I've been trying to figure out what you were thinking about."

"I … I was thinking the movie was poorly made."

"No, not tonight." His eyes flashed to Castiel's mouth and he lightly bit his own lip. "This morning."

He knew what he meant. That flame of unidentified discomfort reared up in Castiel and he couldn't look Dean in the eye. His face went hot again, like a sudden fever, but he didn't feel ill. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to think he couldn't control himself. Being judged was of the utmost discomfort, yes.

Subtle amusement arose from Dean's throat and he bent, trying to catch Castiel's eye. "Are you blushing?" His knees dipped more. "Jesus, Cas, you're really blushing!" The subtle amusement grew into laughter.

"What does that mean?" He still struggled to look Dean in the eye.

Through his laughter, Dean managed to say, "You're embarrassed. Why the hell are you embarrassed? You had an itch that needed scratching. Big deal."

His head tilted and his brow crinkled. "It wasn't an itch, Dean."

"Metaphor, Cas. Metaphor." It didn't appear that Dean was angered by the newly identified emotion of embarrassment. To Castiel's astonishment, his face became endearing. Grasping his face, a kiss took the sting out of it. "Whatever got you must've been something you hadn't thought of before or you wouldn't be embarrassed. Right?"

Castiel nodded, feeling more at ease.

"I wanna know," Dean said dryly.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "That's what people do. They tell their fantasies and then they do them."

The complexities of human behavior brought more confusion to Castiel and something made him hesitant to share it. Yet another part of him fought its way to the surface, the part that desperately wanted what Dean suggested. He didn't understand his own internal conflict.

Dean's eyebrow lifted. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, Dean," came his immediate reply. "I don't exactly know what my ‘fantasy' is, as your term it."

"Just tell me what went on in your mind, no matter how crazy it sounds."

It sounded rather simplistic but the words tangled in Castiel's throat. Slowly, haltingly, with several stops and starts, he did his best to explain to Dean that experience. The way he saw Dean in his mind, the way Dean didn't speak but obeyed every way Castiel wanted to be touched, and finally, the way he looked kneeling before him and entirely focused on making him come. It was not how they usually had sex and perhaps that was why Castiel initially felt uncomfortable telling him. But as he listened to himself recounting the experience out loud, sometimes parroting Dean's colorful language, he discovered the need rising up in him again.

For Dean, he listened intently, his fingers drawn to his own lips at times, languidly rubbing them as if considering it all. His eyes went hazy and Castiel knew that expression. It had the same affect on Dean as it did him. Embarrassment faded, left by blood rushing downward.

"Dean?" he said hoarsely.

Unreadable green eyes looked him up and down for a long moment. Fear slowly crept in until he wondered if confessing the deed was the wrong thing after all.

"So your fantasy is to be in complete control of me," restated Dean in his own words. He then gave it a term. "Domination."

Castiel said nothing but understood the words in different applications. He never thought of them in sexual conditions, but he knew Dean was quite correct. He shifted where he stood against the sudden pressure on his jeans zipper. Despite knowing that was indeed his ‘fantasy', he didn't expect that a gruff man like Dean would agree to it. And it didn't matter to him so long Dean gave him the attention he craved.

Abruptly, Dean turned his back and Castiel watched curiously as he removed his suit jacket in rather deliberate motions. It peeled from his shoulders as if he simultaneously worked something out in his mind. When he faced Castiel again, something desperately soft filled his eyes. Something eager to please. Something compliant. Something loving and tender. Castiel's breath struggled to rise from his lungs at the sight of it.

The better nature of Dean's own strong will fought its way out of him as much as he tried to contain it. As he approached, his face hardened, momentarily angry even, but at himself rather than his lover. Hard eyes made greener by his struggle to surrender entirely focused on Castiel, and he ripped the snake of a tie from around his throat. One hand opened his shirt and the other presented the tie to Castiel.

"Take control," he murmured.

With a glance at the tie, Castiel silently wondered what he was supposed to do with it. Dean's eyes slipped shut and his lips rubbed together.

"Take control," he murmured again.

Castiel accepted the silk tie, a blue and silver striped length of fabric that felt more expensive than it looked. The great love of his thousands of years in existence opened his eyes again, a changed man. Complete surrender looked back at Castiel. Not only surrender but he saw himself in Dean's gaze, realizing that he would have never offered himself to anyone else. And to prove it, Dean wordlessly slipped out of his white dress shirt, squared his stance, and clasped his hands behind his back. All too suddenly, Castiel understood the intention of the tie. It was Dean completely sacrificing his own power as a dominant man to make this former angel happy.

The only thing Castiel knew to do was pull Dean's face toward his own, the tie buffering space between hand and cheek, and their lips easily met. He conveyed gratitude and promises to the man, who never once unclasped his hands or roughly grabbed him the way he was prone to do. Compliance and surrender answered Castiel's kiss, not aggression and the need to live on his own terms.

Pulling back, Castiel committed this perfect, private surrender to his memory because he knew it might never happen again. An invincibly strong man like Dean, full to the brim of stubbornness and anger, wouldn't allow another being to be in complete control of his body and Castiel knew it. This was his one opportunity to feel power over everything in his new life. It was, he decided, one of those moments Dean had told him about when relying on human instinct was necessary. In that manner, Castiel had to surrender himself to the experience of instinct.

First thing was first. Behind Dean, he looped the tie around each wrist and then wound a strong knot. Instinct demanded that he make certain Dean couldn't escape unless he gave permission. Dean's fists flexed and relaxed, his own instinct most likely resisting the sensation of being bound.

Castiel faced his human again and found it impossible not to stare in wonderment at the silent way Dean watched him, the way he tried to guess what was coming next, but inevitably giving in to trust. The former angel tugged open Dean's cheap wool dress pants without looking down. He'd done it enough that he could do it by blindly. Pants pooled around Dean's ankles and his tight boxer briefs momentarily joined them. Dean remained motionless and silent as Castiel crouched to tug off his shoes, socks, and free him of the irritating cumbersome fabric around his ankles.

Rising to his full height once more, his stony expression fixed on Dean's waiting one as he stripped out of his own clothes. An inherent clumsiness had always been part of his human body, but the promise of utter control over his surroundings left him with a new liquidity, a new confidence, a new smoothness in his gestures.

And then they melted into one another, a kiss reversed in aggression and acceptance. He ensured Dean's obedience with a loose grip on his cock, already harder than he remembered before, and squeezed just enough to hold his attention. He knew Dean and knew what it took to push him over the edge. Instead, he took him to the cliff but never allowed him to fly off into oblivion. Dean growled against his mouth as the kiss became frenzied and erratic. His chest shoved against Castiel in aggression. And Castiel immediately released him, backing out of his reach with a punishing stare.

"No," he warned.

Defiance flashed over Dean's entire body, muscles tense, and subtly jumping under the strain of obeying someone else rather than instant gratification of his own urges. When Dean wanted to fuck, he fucked with abandon, sometimes violent surges. Taking time and following someone else's lead frustrated that need to scratch the itch. Castiel waited until the struggle subsided, watching his lover with hands bound behind his back and his cock so agitated that it visibly throbbed.

"Damn it, Cas," he growled.

"Obedience, Dean," replied Castiel calmly.

Eventually, the softer light of surrender returned to Dean's eyes. Fingers curled into short cropped lighter hair as Castiel kissed him tortuously slow, careful to touch every part of Dean's swollen, wet lips. A single stroke along the length of Dean's cock reminded him of the reward awaiting him if he submitted. But the emptiness of not touching him reminded the hunter of how painful disobedience could be. The ability to turn on and off Dean's pleasure flushed Castiel's body and mind with power, even confidence.

His thoughts drifted and he knew what he wanted. Hands slid along Dean's stubbly jaw, giving way to smoother skin of his throat, and the softest untouched skin along his shoulders, where he pushed downward.

Dean understood the wordless command and dropped to his knees.

"Obedience, Dean," murmured Castiel for a second time as he looked down at the man and all of his muscular shapes, his scars, his imperfections in total nakedness.

Heady anticipation leaned Castiel's back against the wall as he watched Dean's focus. Swollen lips opened around the head of Castiel's cock as he watched without care for his wanton expression. He sucked in a lungful of air, giving himself over to the wetness of Dean's tongue, soft and strong all at once. It was so much better than his fantasy, he thought, using the new word. Dean took his time drawing more of him into his mouth. His tongue lapped along the practiced, sensitive places that made Castiel gasp sharply or moan in long breaths. A rhythm settled between them with hips and mouth sliding back and forth against each other.

Castiel submerged in the sensation of completely executed control for the first time in his human life. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No fear of making some faux pas against foreign human behavior. In fact, nothing could happen without his permission that night. Unbound clarity came to his mind and he felt entirely … human. Perfectly, in control, without apology … human. Dean gave that gift to him and his head rolled, looking down at him again.

"Dean," he whispered breathlessly. "Yes. _Yes_."

His large hand gripped the back of Dean's head, relishing in this complete sense of power, and at times he grabbed handfuls of hair when jolts of pleasure became especially intense. Dean's hands bound behind his back forced him to learn what Castiel wanted by his slick, warm mouth alone. Occasionally grazing teeth along Castiel's shaft made his hips buck unexpectedly and the precipice approached.

The aching spread through Castiel's body from the base of his cock, feeling bigger than it had ever been, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. It took all of his strength to push Dean away, but he wasn't ready for it to be over yet.

"Stop," he instructed through fast, ragged gasps.

Dean sat back on his legs, looking up at Castiel through eyes dulled by questioning and intense arousal. He waited in silence for Castiel to pull himself back from the precipice, despite his entire body demanding a release. As much of an exercise as it was for Dean to learn to obey, it was an equal exercise for Castiel in self-denial and prolonging the experience. Finally, his heart slowed enough to deliver instructions.

"The bed," he said.

Without the use of his hands to steady himself, Dean rose to his feet somewhat awkwardly and obeyed the command. He climbed on the mattress, sitting on his knees.

Castiel joined him, kissing and biting at his neck at first, and then abruptly shoving him backwards on the pillows. Brows knitted in a brief flare of defiance as Dean fell on his back, but he quickly corrected his expression to acceptance and compliance. Part of Castiel wanted to see him openly disobey just to find out what would happen, but there was no time for that now. He reached under his back and untied the binding. Before Dean had a second of freedom, though, he snatched his wrists and pressed them to the mattress on either side of his head.

"Don't move, Dean," instructed the dominant partner with his most serious expression, a threat lingering behind the words.

Wrists remained on the bed as if held by invisible ropes while Castiel settled between Dean's legs, lifting them enough to slide his cock into him. Long, slow rolls of his hips against Dean's pelvis pulled low, growling sounds from both of their throats. He hovered over his obedient lover and gripped his wrists for a reminder of exactly who was in control as he pumped in and out of his body. Dean was trapped and helpless under Castiel, a thought that commanded his hips into a faster rolling pace that became an onslaught of force. He watched the angled, square lines of Dean's face twist in the exquisite torture of pleasure that he couldn't command. He writhed and arched his back against Castiel's body. It only intensified the shocks and ripples of aching electricity until he felt himself beginning to tense.

"Cas," groaned Dean, knowing it pushed him closer to hear his name that way. "Yeah, Cas, _yeah_."

The last moments met with such force on Dean that his head nearly hit the headboard, but Castiel went beyond the point of no return. Nerve endings collected, organized, and exploded from his cock outward through every cell in his body. Head sharply thrown back, merciless waves of a long overdue orgasm spent into Dean with hot spurts of come. Somewhere in the deafening, blinding release of more tension than he thought he could hold, Castiel's teeth sank into Dean's pectoral muscle. Teeth marks surrounded the interior of the anti-possession tattoo, immediately red and swollen, but Dean's voice sounded like dying of pleasure rather than pain. The world blurred and each of his muscles liquefied as he collapsed on top of Dean's chest.

As slow awareness returned to him, so did the awareness that Dean's shallow breath felt wrong. Tight chest muscles beneath Castiel's cheek brought him back to reality, and as he pulled back to look at Dean, he found a visage tense with the denial of completion. Dean blinked, wide-eyed, his wet lips parted for quick breaths. All too suddenly, Castiel knew he'd withheld his own experience because he had promised complete compliance and surrender. He teetered on the edge, but his impossibly strong will kept him from spiraling into his own orgasm for Castiel's sake. Castiel hadn't given his permission, after all.

The fulfilled promise of surrender left Castiel feeling more exposed in his heart than ever before, and he could only guess at what Dean must have felt. A wall between them had been torn down and a new kind of closeness went up in its place. He leaned down, kissing Dean without agenda, without control, and his hand snaked between them in search of the hunter's desperately hard cock. Dean's hips jerked upward into his hand as fingers tightly gripped around him stroked in quick motions just the way he needed.

"Come for me, Dean," he whispered against his lips, using Dean's own language for it.

Castiel centered his hand's attention on the overly sensitive head of Dean's cock, rapidly rubbing the velvety flesh. He was free to grab Castiel but he didn't. He never once reached out for him as his eyes fluttered and rolled, his mouth hung open, and his hips moved of their own accord. Sounds defined neither as growls nor moans emanated from Dean's throat as long spurts of come began covering his stomach and Castiel's hand. His body could have lifted off the bed with the force of it if he wasn't pinned down by domination. Castiel had never seen him lose such complete control of himself and a new rush of power rolled into him.

It became clear, as Dean slowly came back to Earth, that he enjoyed being controlled by Castiel as much as Castiel had wanted to control him. Something he'd offered to make the former angel happy ended up bringing him just as much pleasure. There was a certain freedom in surrendering yourself - a lesson Castiel learned early in his humanity but one that Dean now understood too.

At first, as they lay tangled in each other face-to-face on their pillows, neither of them spoke. Dean's thumb rubbed Castiel's darker, coarser stubble as he appeared to study his face. Strong will filled him again and he became himself as the aftershocks subsided. Castiel's heavy limbs relaxed into Dean's touch.

"Who knew you had it in you?" he commented after a time. "You still shock the hell out of me, Cas."

Castiel half-smiled in his usual manner when he didn't know what to say.

Soft laughter came through Dean's lips. "I think we found your kink."

Perhaps that was true, but Castiel decided not to point out that he thought Dean found his own kink that night too. Dean Winchester thoroughly enjoyed being submissive to the former angel, Castiel. He didn't even complain about the bruised bite mark over his anti-possession tattoo that lingered for several days.


End file.
